


A Little Night Musing

by Mizmak



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bookshop, Musing, Short & Sweet, Sweet, invitation to stay the night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21606217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak
Summary: After averting the end of the world, Aziraphale has doubts about who he is now, and Crowley helps him figure it out.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66





	A Little Night Musing

A Little Night Musing

_You’re a bit of a fallen angel, aren’t you?_

_He’s gone native. He isn’t one of us anymore._

He sat at his desk in the bookshop as the evening slid into night. _Aziraphale Fell_. He smiled at a distant memory, of Crowley remarking on the name he had chosen to use in his bookshop owner role.

“You fell, did you, Angel? Was that my doing?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t fallen.”

“Then why _that_ name?”

“It amuses me, that’s all.”

Angels don’t lie, of course, so Crowley had to believe him. But there were lesser forms of deception of which he was quite capable. Neglecting to tell the whole truth, for example, wasn’t _quite_ the same as an outright lie.

He wanted his name, truth be told, to reflect his relationship with Crowley, in a very subtle way that Heaven, he hoped, would not notice.

Since he couldn’t exactly use _Fallen Angel_ or _Demon_ as his surname, he settled on a more oblique reference to his closest companion on Earth. Not Fallen, but Fell. Crowley fell from grace. 

When he thought about it now, though, he knew how apt the choice had been, in more ways than one. Now it truly did apply to him as well. Aziraphale Fell…from what? From his ordained purpose, from service to Heaven. And it had begun a long, long time ago. In fact, the first time he agreed to Crowley’s “arrangement”, Aziraphale had taken a small step downward, and he had been slowly sliding onward ever since.

Both fallen, in their own way. Aziraphale sighed. He didn’t _feel_ like a fallen angel, especially since Heaven was no longer the place he thought it should be – not a haven of love and peace, but a place full of petty power struggles and bureaucratic politics worthy of any human institution.

Apparently he had been an unusual angel in refusing to play Heaven’s games, and he hadn’t so much fallen as simply walked away.

So what, exactly, was he now? He not only no longer felt like an outcast angel, he didn’t feel much like an angel of any sort. Nor did he feel like a demon, nor human, either. What did that leave?

Aziraphale sighed. He really couldn’t wrestle with deep philosophical issues at this time of night. Perhaps what he really needed was a nice cup of cocoa.

He fixed one up in the cozy kitchen in the back of the shop. As he settled back down at his desk, the bell above the front door tinkled. He had locked the shop earlier, but that wouldn’t stop Crowley.

And indeed, in a moment Crowley sauntered over, carrying a bottle of wine. “Evening.” He slouched into a chair and glanced at the cup of cocoa. “Hitting up the hard stuff, are we?” He held up the wine bottle. “I’ve got something better.”

“No, thank you. Not in the mood.”

Crowley set the bottle on the desk and studied him. “What are you doing – having deep philosophical thoughts or something?”

Aziraphale gasped. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Read my mind.”

Crowley shrugged. “Wasn’t aware that I was. Wait – _what_? You _are_ having deep philosophical thoughts?”

“Well, I _was_ , until I decided that drinking a cup of cocoa was a better use of my time.” At which he took a long sip of the soothing liquid. “ _Ah_.”

Crowley looked at the wine bottle, then snapped his fingers. The bottle vanished, replaced by a mug of steaming cocoa. He took a drink. “You could have a point. I do love chocolate.”

They drank their cocoa without speaking. When they finished, Crowley said, “So are you done having heavy thoughts tonight, or do you want to talk about it?”

Aziraphale considered. The cocoa had provided a pleasant respite, but he did want to talk – much better to have someone to share his thoughts with than to ponder pointlessly by himself. And Crowley obviously understood him better than anyone else possibly could.

“I was wondering,” he said, “who I am.”

Crowley’s brow furrowed. “You don’t have leftover vestiges of Madame Tracy in there, do you?”

“Of course not. Be serious.”

“All right, all right.”

“What I mean is, I don’t feel like an angel anymore. Do you still feel like a demon?”

Crowley fingered his chin. “Ah…remember that time, long time ago, ancient Rome, I think, when you asked if I was still a demon?”

Aziraphale smiled. “I do remember. You gave a flippant reply.”

“As if I could be anything else.” Crowley paused. “I see where you’re going with this. True, I still have my powers.” He flicked his fingers at the cocoa mug, which instantly disappeared. “Yet I don’t feel the need to use them demonically anymore.”

“Precisely. And I don’t work for Heaven any longer. So what does that make me? Or you, for that matter.”

“Don’t know.”

“Well, it’s been worrying me. What if I’ve spent six thousand years accomplishing absolutely nothing worthwhile? I spent those millennia believing that I was doing right and good by obeying Heaven’s orders, only to find out in the end that Heaven wasn’t all that interested in right and good. They were paying very little attention to my efforts, as we both discovered from our ‘arrangement’, and they were paying a lot more attention to keeping score and on winning pointless wars.” He let out a long sigh. “Honestly, what good did I do?”

Crowley leaned over to touch his arm. “You saved the whole damn world, remember?”

Aziraphale blinked. Well, yes, he supposed he had. “With a lot of help.” And against orders.

Crowley leaned back in his chair, and intertwined his fingers behind his head. “You know, there’s more to being good than performing miracles and blessing people and doing good deeds.”

Aziraphale gave him a questioning look. “Is there? Such as what?”

“Such as love. You’ve loved the Earth, and everything on it. Trust me, that is one massive accomplishment.”

“I’m not sure of that. It’s part of angelic nature, it’s built in, to love. We don’t have to _work_ at it. I would like to think that I did at least one good thing over the past six thousand years that required some genuine effort. Something I could look at and say, _Yes, that was worth it_. That I did _something_ worthwhile. Otherwise it was merely six millennia of sometimes obeying orders from beings I no longer admire and sometimes not obeying them by agreeing to your arrangement, along with a whole lot of self-serving fine restaurant meals. And yes, I helped save the world, but even there I came _so_ close to cocking it all up.”

He paused to take a breath. “And what am I supposed to do now with my time? Don’t you understand? I feel so bloody _useless_.”

Crowley sat up. He took off his sunglasses and lay them on the desk. He moved his chair closer in and leaned forward, hands on his knees. He looked directly into Aziraphale’s eyes and said, “I can tell you the one good thing you did, with a great deal of effort.”

Puzzled, Aziraphale asked, “And what is that?”

Crowley smiled softly. “You loved _me_.”

“I – I loved you?” Aziraphale felt a sudden ache in his heart, a profound yearning.

“How easy was it – an angel loving a demon? And don’t give me that line about how it’s in your nature to love everything and everyone, because it isn’t true. You didn’t love the butchers in the Reign of Terror, or the bastard Nazis. No, I never did anything that evil, but I wasn’t exactly a choir boy among demons, either. You weren’t _meant_ to love me, Angel. But you did. You _do_.”

Aziraphale felt as if a great weight had slid off him. It _had_ been a struggle. He had resisted feeling affection for Crowley, had fought against the Arrangement, had denied again and again that they had anything in common. Yet he had also seen, over the centuries, into Crowley’s heart and soul, and he had known that deep down, there was goodness in him. And in the end, he _had_ made the effort – a worthwhile effort – to become his friend. And yes, to love him.

He didn’t need to wrestle with philosophy. He knew who and what he was. He was simply Aziraphale Fell, a spiritual being who happened to dwell on Earth, and who loved another of his own kind.

“Crowley?”

“Hm?”

“ _Thank you_.”

Crowley stretched and yawned. “It’s a bit late, don’t you think?” He stood.

“You’re not leaving?” Aziraphale shoved back his chair as he rose. “Please don’t.”

Crowley cocked his head. “No?”

“I have a perfectly nice flat here in the back.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it. You hung flowered drapes.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I like them.”

“And you put those little doily things on the back of the armchairs.”

“Antimacassars.” Honestly, what did he expect? “They protect the fabric from hair oil.”

“Which no one uses anymore.”

Aziraphale was about to give up when Crowley said, “But if you really want me to stay here tonight, I will put up with your decorating quirks.”

“You will?” Aziraphale bounced on his heels.

“Stop that.” Crowley stepped close and waggled a finger in front of his face. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Aziraphale instantly calmed down. “Sorry.”

Crowley patted him on the shoulders. “That’s better. And don’t go thinking this is the start of anything, either.”

“What? No, no, my dear fellow, I merely want your company for tonight. I never have anyone to be with at night. It gets…well, lonely.”

“Yeah? You don’t have some clever notion of getting me to like being here?”

Aziraphale considered. Not a bad idea, at that. “Your flat is a hollow empty soulless barren waste of modernity. Of _course_ you will like it better here.”

Crowley laughed. “Oh, I will, will I?” He sauntered off towards Aziraphale’s living area. “We’ll _see_ about that.”

Aziraphale smiled, much happier now. Yes, Crowley would like it here, and he would like the old-fashioned furnishings better than his own, simply because they were far more comfortable, and much easier to slouch in.

He planned to continue inviting Crowley to stay over, and perhaps one day his friend would stop bothering to pretend that he even wanted to return to his own place.

It would take some effort on his part. Genuine, worthwhile effort.

Aziraphale walked towards the back of the shop after Crowley, knowing deep down that he had done some good in the world after all.

###


End file.
